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Author's Notes at bottom of page.
"How come I have to do this?" Martha grumbled. She and Magenta were walking through the woods, taking a short cut to get to the school and carrying Magenta's bags.
"'Cause I needed help and it was this or scrub floors." Magenta retorted. Martha opened and shut her mouth several times. "Yeah, I thought so." Magenta paused. "Have you heard the choir practicing?"
"No, sorry. Why?"
"I just wanna know if I'll lose my hearing or not." She considered her options for a moment then shrugged. "Eh."
Her left eye twitched.
"So, what do you think?"
"Of the choir?" She clarified. Seb nodded. "..."
"Well?" Seb prompted. Magenta looked over the boys sitting before her. She guessed there were about 75 of them all up. It would be a shame to break their hearts. At an all boys school, she was extremely surprised there were so many in the choir and none of them had any visible injuries. In the 21st century, a boy in the choir at an all boys school... well, everyone can get used to pain after long enough, right?
"You should sing standing up." She finally announced. Seb and his students looked surprised. "What? It's like... one of the, uh, fundamentals of singing at your full potential... sort of... actually... yeah." She said, fumbling awkwardly for something non-committal to say. He considered it for a moment.
"I suppose you're right. Boys," He turned to the choir. "Standing up, please. Let's try it again for Miss Moncrieff." It was all Magenta could do not to cry.
Martha found Magenta in the music classroom, sitting at the piano and staring blankly at the wall.
"What are you doing?" She asked curiously. Magenta frowned, not breaking her gaze.
"Trying to rid myself of the memory. My god, those boys... they make the most god-awful sound I've ever heard. Ever." She sighed and let her hands fall silently to rest on the piano keys. She absentmindedly began playing a soft melody with her right hand, the other laying still. She slowed, stopped, then began again.
"Martha," She said, looking as though she'd had an epiphany. "I think... I think..." She stopped suddenly, changing her mind about what she was going to say. "There's someone outside." Martha opened the door to find Mr Smith hovering outside. He looked embarrassed at being caught. Martha looked down, trying to hide her emotion while Magenta regarded him with mild curiosity.
"Right, well, hello. Just thought I'd introduced myself."
"Okay." Magenta said expectantly.
"Yes, well, I'm Mr Smith. That's John Smith. Yes well." He looked painfully awkward. Magenta knew she could quite easily resolve the tension with a simple smile or a friendly gesture, but she enjoyed people's emotional turmoil.
"Yes, well. I'm Miss Moncrieff. That's Magenta Moncrieff. Yes well." She mimicked, fairly certain he wouldn't pick it up.
"Goodbye." He muttered before leaving, slamming the door shut behind him. Magenta snickered. Well, she almost snickered. Her constitution stopped her from actually expressing any form of amusement.
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Later in the evening, she and Martha were talking about Mr Smith in Magenta's new room. "He's curious." She commented. "I wonder why." John Smith's curiosity was strange but not entirely misplaced. A curiosity Magenta was extremely interested in. In finding what fueled it. In finding what exactly he wanted to know about her. In finding out exactly what he did know about her. There was a knock at her door. A relatively pretty girl with mousy hair opened it without waiting for an invitation. Magenta could see she was a few years older than Martha and wearing a maid's uniform identical to the one Martha was wearing.
"Miss Moncrieff," Martha began, adopting a professional persona, "This is one of my colleagues, Enid Thatcher."
"If you don't mind, miss," Enid said, giving the impression she'd rather be anywhere but here. "I've been appointed to serve you."
"Serve me?" Magenta looked startled.
"Yes miss. You and three others so don't feel special." Enid replied with disdain.
"I don't really... need anything...right now." Magenta replied slowly. Enid remained where she was standing. "Uh, you can go if you want." Enid was gone before they could say 'Weeping Angel'.
"As I was saying-" There was a knock at the door. "Oh, what is it now?" Magenta huffed. "Come in." It was Seb.
"Good day, Miss Moncrieff.'
"Good day, Mister Mantegna."
"Martha." He said, pointedly.
"Oh, right. I'll be going, then. See you later."
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Seb and Magenta went for a walk down to the village pub.
"I'm sorry. I should have warned you." Seb said.
"No, it's fine." It wasn't. "I guess I just have my work cut out for me, then."
"Mmmmmm." Seb replied.
"What if we ran tutorials, you know, for smaller groups? So it would be easier to address individual issues?"
"Yes. That's a good idea." They walked in silence for a few minutes.
"How old do you think I am?" Magenta asked abruptly. "I know it's a slightly... impertinent question but..." She shrugged. Seb studied her face.
"Based on your physical aspects, I'd say around 16 but there's something about you-" He cut himself off, perhaps realising that now he was being the impertinent one.
"Please tell me."
"There's something about you that makes you seem so much older." Seb finished poetically. Magenta gave him her almost-sort-of-in-a-way smile.
"So, about the groups..."
xxxxxx
The next day, Seb and Magenta were standing in front of the band. It was slightly smaller than the choir and extremely unbalanced. Only 9 of the 50 students were playing woodwind instruments. Unlike the choir, they didn't make Magenta want to stab herself.
"Okay boys," She started, "You this paper?" She held a small pile of paper in the air. "Using this pen," She held up a pen. "You will write your name, age and instrument down in a list at the end of rehearsal which, coincidentally, is around about now. There will be no rehearsals until I say so. Instead, you will all attend tutorials in small, intimate," Her eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement, "groups. I will notify you of when and where they are to be held. Enjoy the break while it lasts." The boys scrabbled to write their details down and get the hell out of there, hardly daring to believe their good luck.
xxxxx
Magenta was about to walk to the TARDIS. As she set off, she could sense someone watching her. Turning around abruptly, she couldn't see anyone immediate. Shifting her gaze upwards, she locked eyes with Mr Smith who was watching her from his window. It was a strange moments. Neither one of them was embarrassed and neither looked away. As he watched her, it occurred to him how intense she seemed with the sun setting behind her. A gentle breeze blew her long blonde hair around her. An image arose in his mind. A woman who looked older and similar to Magenta was surrounded by white-gold light.
Everything must come to dust... all things. Everything dies.
She turned around and resumed walking. Mr Smith shook his head. What had just happened? Looking around wildly, he spied his journal, conveniently placed on his desk next to his favourite pen. He bounded over to it and wrote down. It wasn't the first image like this to appear to his mind. It was, however, the first to appear while he was awake. The sequence kept playing through his head until the sun had gone down and he was sure she hadn't returned. He realised that this was the first time in his life he had felt the need for alcohol so acutely. He grabbed his coat and started off down the corridor. But before he could even get to the stairs, the Matron ambushed him.
"Good evening, Mr Smith."
"Good evening, Matron." He replied politely. She smiled up at him.
"Were you going out somewhere?"
"Yes." He answered shortly. It was only after she looked affronted that he realised he was being rude. "Yes, I was going down to the pub. Would you allow me to escort you there?" The Matron looked unbelievably eager. "Yes, I would like that very much."
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xxxxx
Hey dudes and dudettes. I would apologise but I read this other fic that was the most god-awful... thing I'd ever read. So, naturally, I kept reading it (out of morbid curiousity). So this one chapter, in the author's notes, the author apologised for not updating in ages and I thought 'Jesus Christ! How arrogant can you get?' because, as I said before, it was the most god-awful thing I'd ever read and couldn't imagine anyone actually caring enough to want more of it. Therefore, I'm not entirely sure I should apologise coz I'm not sure anyone cares that much. But if you do, I thank you and apologise for me being so lazy. The strange this is, I had this chapter just sitting on my computer (GO LINUX! WOOOO!) but I never uploaded it. So, yeah. Anyway. I have a bad habit of not updating in months. Disclaimer: Yeah. I don't own Doctor Who. I did write an article on Billie Piper and uncyclopedia(dot)org like, last year or the year before that. It's been slightly mutilated. But hey, that's fine.
